The Queen`s Confession

Tuileries and Saint-Cloud

With what a horrible feeling of doom I entered the Tuileries. It was long since the place had been inhabited; it was damp and cold. The passages were so dark that even by day they had to be lighted by oil lamps which smoked. We were so exhausted that all we wanted to do was sleep. The Dauphin had given up declaring that he was hungry; his eyelids were drooping, but he said: “This is an ugly place, Maman. Let us go home now.”

“Why, mon Chou d’Amour, Louis Quatorze lived here and liked it. So you must like it, too

Why did he like it? “

“Perhaps you will find out He was loo sleepy for more questions, and I was glad of that.

I tried to sleep on the hastily-improvised bed; but I kept waking, startled and fancying I could feel the movement of the coach, hear the shouts of the people and see those bloody heads held aloft on pikes.

What will become of us now, I wondered.

The King slept heavily.

In the morning my spirits were lifted a little. The sun showed up the decrepit appearance of the palace but at least the daylight was comforting; and I felt that to have lived safely through the night was somehow a triumph.

The King was full of optimism.

“We will have furniture brought here from Versailles,” he said.

“I am sure my people will wish to see us properly housed.”

It seemed incredible that he could still believe in the love of his people.

Our faithful servants found some food for us and we were able to explore the palace. The only part that seemed in order was that which looked on the gardens. On the first floor were several rooms which could be lived in and these became the King’s bedroom, Elisabeth’s bedroom, one bed room each for the Dauphin and his sister, a drawing room and a few reception rooms; on the ground floor was my bedroom with four more rooms; a flight of stairs connected the apartments so that in any emergency we could very quickly all be together.

But it seemed we were to have link peace, for with the coming of the morning the people were assembling again. My son heard them and came running to me.

“Afon Dieu, Maman,” he cried, ‘is it yesterday again? “

I tried to comfort him, but the women were already shrieking for me to appear on the balcony. I stepped out, believing as I had yesterday that I could well be stepping out to death; but this was a different crowd, I saw at once, a more sober crowd. These were the citizens of Paris; they stood firmly behind the revolution but they were not the criminals and prostitutes who had marched on Versailles. I sensed at once the difference and I believed that I could speak to them.

There was a silence as I stood there. I knew that they respected my courage in showing no fear in facing them.

I said: “My friends, you should know that I love my good city of Paris.”

“Oh yes,” cried a voice, ‘so much so that on the fourteenth of July you wanted to besiege it and on the fifth of October you were about to flee to the frontier. “

There were cheers and laughter; but how different it was from yesterday.

“We must stop hating each other,” I said; and there was again that silence. Then someone said: “She has courage, this Austrian Woman.”

Another silence and then: “Vice la Reins’ When I stepped into the room, I felt greatly comforted, but I knew nothing would ever be as it had in the past. There would be great changes. Yes, that was necessary; there would be no more extravagant balls, no more gowns from Rose Berlin, no more additions to the Trianon. I did not want them. I could be satisfied with my children, my lover, my kind and tender husband.

I sat down and wrote to Mercy, whom I had told to keep away from the Court for a while because I feared that the Austrian Ambassador would be considered an enemy and would doubtless be in danger:

“If we forget where we are and how we came here, we should be pleased with the people’s mood, particularly this morning. I hope that if there is no lack of bread a great many things will settle down. No one would believe all that has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and yet whatever one imagined, would be less than what we have had to endure. “

The Ring came into my room and he said: “I heard the people applauding you. This is the end of the revolution. Now we will work out a new order—the best for us all.”

I embraced him but I did not really agree with him. I could not forget that however mild the mood of the people today, we were prisoners; and as I said to Madame Campan when I knew that they were going to force us to leave Versailles for the Tuileries: “When Kings become prisoners, they have not long to live.”

The mood of the people certainly had changed, for within the next few days furniture began to arrive from Versailles. Carpenters and upholsterers were in the place all through the day, and in a very short time those apartments we had chosen began to look more suitable for a royal residence. Our royal bodyguards, chosen from noble families, had of course been dismissed and replaced by members of La Fayette’s National Guard, and we found this tiresome, for these men were curious and ill-bred and showed little restraint in invading our privacy.

I was terrified that my son would offend these guards and I impressed on him the need to be friendly with them. This he did not find difficult; he would question them and talk to them in a way which they could not fail to find charming.

He was old enough to be puzzled by what was happening, to compare the present life with that of the past; all of us attempted to hide our apprehension in his presence and to try to lead him to the belief that everything that was happening was perfectly natural.

But he was too bright to be taken in.

One day he ran to the King and said: “Papa, I have something very serious to say to you.”

His father smiled and said he would be glad to hear more of this serious matter.

What I do not understand. Papa,” said the Dauphin, ‘is why the people who used to love you so much, are all at once angry with you. What have you done to make them so cross?”

The King took the boy on his knee and said: “I wanted to make the. people happier than they were, but I want money to pay for the cost of wars, so I asked the people for money as all Kings must do. But the Magistrates who make up the Pariement opposed this and said that only the people had the right to consent to it. I asked the principal inhabitants of all the towns, whether distinguished by birth, fortune, or talent, to come to Versailles. That is called a States-General.

When they came they asked concessions of me which I could not make either with respect to myself or in justice to you who will one day be their King. Wicked men, who urged the people to rise, have been responsible for what has happened during the last few days. You must not think the people are to be blamed for this. “

I do not know whether he understood it all, but the boy nodded gravely; and after that conversation seemed to lose a great many of his childish ways.

The dreary winter progressed. We had settled down to routine which was very different from the old life. Versailles and the Petit Trianon seemed years away. But I had changed too.

I was thirty-four years old and I had learned a terrible lesson. I was beginning to see that if I had behaved differently I should not have been reviled as I was by the people. They did not hate the King as they hated me.

I had changed so much that I chose those apartments on the ground floor so that I could be apart from my family, so that I could be alone to contemplate. How strange that I who had never been able to concentrate for more than a few seconds or so on any subject which did not interest me should now seek to know myself.

I would spend hours in writing, setting down what had happened in the past, which I have continued to do, and aoo which is the only way I can know myself and follow each step to the place which I have now reached.

I had become changed. I had grown from a frivolous girl into a woman.

The change had been sudden but only as sudden as the change in my fortunes. I felt as though I had lived through a lifetime of suffering and fear in twenty-four hours. That must have its effect on anyone.

When I remember the letters I wrote to Mercy I know how great the change was.

“The more unfortunate I am,” I wrote, ‘the stronger grows my affection for my true friends. I am looking forward so much to the moment when I shall be able to see you freely and to assure you of the feelings which you have every right to expect from me feelings which will last to the end of my life. “

At last I realised the worth of Mercy, for now I saw how different everything might have been if I had paid attention to his warnings and those of my mother.

But I took courage from the fact that now I could see that I was wrong a fact of which I had been ignorant until great suffering opened my eyes.

During that dreary winter the days seemed long and monotonous. My great comforts were my children and Axel, who was able to visit me frequently. I would sit in the schoolroom white the Abbe Davout was teaching nay son, and I saw how difficult he found it to concentrate, which reminded me so much of my own childhood that I warned him against this.

“But, Maman,” he said gravely, ‘there are so many soldiers here, and they are so much more interesting than lessons. “

Great soldiers, I reminded him, had to learn their lessons too.

We all attended Mass each day and took our meals together We were more intimate than we had ever been before, for we lived like a bourgeois family, sitting at table with the children, who joined in the conversation. Poor Adelaide and Victoire had changed very much.

Sophie had died and they were always saying: “Lucky Sophie. To have been spared this.”

But they were no longer my enemies; this misfortune had changed them too. They had enough sense to realise that the scandals they had spread about me in the past had played a strong part in bringing us all to the state in which we now found ourselves, and they were contrite. I think they were astonished too that I bore them no malice.

I had no time to be vindictive; I could take no pleasure in reminding them of all the harm they had done me. I could only be sorry for them who had lived so long in a state of society which was now cracking under their feet and leaving them defenceless.

Their attitude towards me had taken a complete turnabout;

they were affectionate and devoted perhaps even adoring, for Adelaide could never do anything by halves, and Vktoire, of course, followed her sister.

Elisabeth’s natural saintliness was increased. She was always with me and the children. Together we set about making a tapestry rug, which filled long hours of that winter as pleasantly as could be expected.

After dinner the King would slump in his chair and sleep, or go to his apartment to do so. He was gentle with the whole family and could always soothe the hysterical outbursts of the aunts which they could not help letting escape from time to time. They longed so much for a return of the old days;

they, more than any of us, found it hard to adjust them selves to the new regime.

I lived for Axel’s visits. We could not be alone together but we held many whispered conversations. He told me he could not rest while I was here in Paris. He thought continually of that terrible drive from Versailles to Paris.

“Those canaille how I loathe them! How I despise them! God knows what harm they might have done you. How can I tell you of the agonies I suffered when I knew you were in their midst? I tell you I will never rest until you are out of this city. I want you right away … where I know you shall be safe.”

I smiled and listened. His love for me, my children’s affection for me and my husband’s tenderness were all I cared to live for.

And during that long winter the theme of my lover’s discourse was Escape.

After a while my fears were lulled a little. We; were in a sense prisoners, but at least at the Tuileries we had a semblance of a Court. La Fayette was a constant visitor and he assured the King that he was his servant. La Fayette was a man of good intentions, and in this respect he was not unlike Louis. He failed to be on the spot at the important moment; he was always too late when the decision should be made promptly and too quick when it needed a great deal of consideration. But we were glad of his friendship.

He had evidence that Orleans had helped to arrange the march on Versailles and was certain that those people who swore they bad seen the Due disguised in a slouch hat had not been mistaken, and for this reason he believed that Orleans should be sent where he could do no more harm.

The King could not believe that his own cousin could be such a traitor. But La Fayette cried: “Sire, his plan is to dethrone you and be Regent of France. The very fact of his birth makes this possible.”

“What proof have you?” asked the King dismayed.

“Plenty, Sire. And I can get more. The rabble which marched on Versailles was strongly augmented by men in women’s clothes. They were not the women of Paris as we were meant to believe. They were paid agitators, many of them, and one of those who organised the march was Monsieur d’Orleans.”

“It is incredible,” insisted the King; but I pointed out to him that it was not incredible at all. Orleans had been my enemy from the days when I had first come to France; and I could well believe this of him.

The King looked at me helplessly, but La Fayette, sure now of my support, went on: “Sire, some heard the cry ” Vive Orleans, notre roi d’orleans I think that makes it clear. He plans to destroy you and the Queen and set himself up in your place. He should be sent out of the country. “

“Let him go to England,” said the King.

“But I think it should be said that he goes on a mission for me. I would not wish publicly to accuse my cousin of treachery.”

So to London went Orleans; and there he met Madame de la Motte and together they planned what further calumnies they could pile upon me.

Those long winter days! Those draughty corridors ! Those smoking lamps! And our privacy continually disturbed by the guards!

I do not think I could have endured that winter but for Axel’s presence. I missed Gabrielle sadly. The Princesse de Lamballe was a good friend and I loved her dearly, but she had never had the place in my feelings which I-gave to Gabrielle. Elisabeth was a constant consolation—and of course the children. My daughter was growing into a sweet-natured girl. She was resigned and accepted hardship without complaint. She was greatly influenced by the attitude of her Aunt Elisabeth, and the two were always together. Sometimes when I was particularly sad I would send for my little Chou d’Amour and he would enliven me with his precocious sayings. Like the child he was, he had quickly adapted himself to the life at the Tuileries, and I sometimes thought that he had forgotten the splendours of the Trianon and Versailles.

We must be careful not to spoil him,” I told Madame de Tourzel, ” but he is such a darling, it is difficult. We must remember, though, that we should bring him up to be a King. “

She agreed with me, and I often thought how fortunate I was to be surrounded by so many true friends; and that it could only be in times of misfortune that we could discover them.

The King was relying more and more on my judgment. He seemed aware of the change in me and I remembered how in the beginning he had declared he would never allow a woman to advise him. We had both changed.

But there was one quality in him which never altered—that unnatural calm. It almost seemed that he lacked interest in his own affairs.

I heard (me of his ministers say that to discuss affairs with him made him feel that be was discussing matters concerning the Emperor of China instead of the King of France.

For this reason I found myself being drawn more and more into affairs.

I had tried to keep out of them, but Mercy had warned me that if I did not play a part in them no one would. Someone must be at the helm of a ship which was being buffeted by a fierce storm. This was said by Mirabeau, who, now that Orleans was no longer in France, was the one man who could hold back the revolution.

That man was right. He was brilliant, I knew. Mercy wrote of him often; Axel spoke of him. He was a rascal, said Axel, and-we should not trust him; but at this time he was the most important man in France and we should not ignore him.

It was noticed that I was taking a part in affairs. The King would never agree to anything without, as he openly said, ‘consulting the Queen. ” The new person I had become, although ignorant of much, at least had a firm opinion on what should be done, and this was better than the attitude of the King, which was never the same for two days running. I was for standing firm against the revolutionaries. We had conceded enough, I declared. We should concede no more. Axel confirmed me in my opinions. Perhaps I drew on him for them. He was not only my lover; he was my adviser; and the fact that he and Mercy were in agreement on so many points pleased me.

Mirabeau began to change his mind. He now remarked:

“The King has only one man with him—his wife.”

And this meant that Mirabeau considered me a greater power in France than the King.

“When one undertakes to direct a revolution,” Mirabeau was reported to me as having said, “the difficulty is not to spur it on but restrain it.”

I gathered from that remark that he wished to restrain it.

In February my brother Joseph died. I felt numbed when I read the letter from Leopold, who had succeeded him. There had been a bond between Joseph and myself, although his criticism had irritated me; but I realised now that he had meant to help me, and how much wisdom there had been behind his comments.

Leopold and I had never been so close, so now I felt even the links with Vienna slipping away from me.

We were all suffering from colds; the King had put on more weight, for he missed the violent exercise he had been accustomed to take, and an occasional game of billiards could not make up for it. I myself was far from well and I could not contemplate a long summer in the unhealthy atmosphere of the Tuileries. When I suggested that we go to Saint-Cloud for the summer there was only the mildest dissension. I felt very relieved and in lighter spirits than I had been for a long time, because when we got into our carriages in order to make the journey only a small hostile crowd tried to stop us and a much bigger crowd shouted that we needed the more salubrious air and called out “Bon voyage au ban Papa!” which delighted the King and raised my spirits even higher. I really believed that the revolution was over and that in time we should be allowed to return to Versailles—to a different life, it was true, but a dignified one.

What a joy to be at Saint-Cloud! The air was invigorating, and how beautiful it seemed compared with the gloomy Tuileries which I hated.

I felt the old days were almost back. It was not the Trianon, of course, but it was the next best thing.

Mercy, who was in Brussels, was writing to me urging me not to ignore the advances of Mirabeau who was eager to bring about a rapprochement and was the one man in the whole of France who could end the revolution and put the King back on the throne.

I considered the man—an aristocrat by birth who had not been received well by the nobility and had no doubt for this reason allied himself with the Third Estate. He had given his talents to Orleans, but Orleans was now an exile; and Mirabeau wished to turn around and end the revolution which he had helped to start. Perhaps he had not intended it should go the way it did. Perhaps he had really wished to make changes constitutionally. In any case that was what he apparently wished now.

He had written letters to the King, who had not answered them. I had read these letters and had not persuaded my husband to pay attention to them for I believed that any man who could have been responsible for setting the whole tragedy in motion should be shunned for evermore.

“I shall henceforth be what I have always been,” he wrote, ‘the defender of monarchical power regulated by the laws, and the champion of liberty as guaranteed by monarchical authority. My heart will follow the road which reason has already pointed out to me. “

I heard a great deal of this man. Axel talked of him continually. He was too important to be ignored, he said. We could use him. He had led the people once; he would lead them again. He and he alone was able to put an end to this intolerable situation.

“And you suggest that we should make terms with such a man?” I asked.

“I do,” answered Axel.

“Why does he wish to join us now?” I demanded.

“Only because he will want to be the President of the National Assembly, at the King’s right hand, the first minister. In truth, he wishes to be the ruler of France.”

Axel smiled at me tenderly.

“When he has restored the Monarchy the King and the Queen will be in a strong enough position to deal with him, perhaps.”

“I see how your mind works.”

And because Axel was in favour of employing this man, he was gradually making me realise that it would be an excellent idea. Perhaps Mirabeau himself touched my vanity, for it was to me he wished to make known his plan not to the King.

I wanted that summer to go on and on. I dreaded our return to the Tuileries. Axel was staying nearby in the village of Auteuil and after dark he would slip into the chateau and would stay with me until just before dawn. We were reckless, but these were reckless times. Our passion had reached a fervour, no doubt because we did not know which would be the last night we should ever spend together.

One of those who had been sent to guard us saw him one early morning and watched to see him again. Then he thought fit to report the matter to Saint-Priest.

Saint-Priest spoke to me when we were alone one day and said: “Do you not think that the visits of the Comte de Fersen to the chateau might be a source of danger?”

I felt my face stiffen. I hated this perpetual spying.

I said haughtily: “If you think it right to do so, you should tell the Comte.”

Saint-Priest said nothing to Axel, but I told him of this. He was disturbed and said he must not come so often, and for a few nights he did not; but he could not stay away and I could not bear to be without him, so the visits continued.

Meanwhile ‘he was persuading me to see Mirabeau, and I agreed to meet the man in the park at Saint-Cloud so that our meeting could appear casual. This must be arranged with secrecy, of course, and I was reminded of that other meeting which was supposed to have taken place in a park, between the Cardinal de Rohan and myself. This meeting should be in daylight. Mercy, who knew of the plan and supported it wholeheartedly, wrote expressing pleasure that I had listened to advice of my good friends. Like Axel he was eager to see the Monarchy restored, and since these two were so wholeheartedly in favour of the rendezvous with Mirabeau I could only believe that it was the best thing possible, so I threw myself into the scheme with enthusiasm.

I wrote to Mercy:

I have found a place which, though not as convenient as it might be, is suitable for the proposed meeting and free from the inconvenience of the gardens and the chateau. “

I chose Sunday morning at eight when the Court would be asleep and the grounds therefore deserted, and I went out to meet this man.

I had heard a great deal about him but I was yet unprepared for his ugliness. His skin was deeply pitted with smallpox and his hair stood up like an untidy mat about his head; this was a brutal face, suggesting strength and vitality. I had heard too that at the first meeting women shuddered, and in time grew to love him passionately. This was the man of a hundred seductions, who had spent years in a French prison; who had written many pamphlets; who was in fact the most vital, the most powerful man in the country.

When he spoke I thought his voice one of the most beautiful I had ever beard, but perhaps this was in contrast to his repulsive appearance. His manners were gracious and he treated me as though I were indeed the Queen and with a respect which I so often missed during these days.

He told me that he had passed the night at his sister’s house in order to be in time for the appointment and that I need have no fear that any of those who spied on me should know of the meeting as he had taken the precaution of disguising his nephew as a coachman in order to drive his carriage here.

He then began to explain how he wished to serve us. He could do this.

He would bend the people to his will. What he needed me to do was persuade the King to receive him that he might lay his plans before us both.

I listened to him. I was excited by his enthusiasm, which was in such contrast to my husband’s lethargy. He reminded me of Axel, who was so eager to save me except that Axel was beautiful, and this man so ugly.

I believed him capable of doing all he said and I told him so.

For his part I am sure he was sincere when he laid his hand on his heart and said that in the future it would be his greatest desire in life to serve me. From now on I could count him as my champion.

I told him that he had given me fresh hope and he replied that I might well hope, for soon all the humiliation I had suffered would be behind me.

There was such a sense of power in the man that I could not fail to believe him.

I left him feeling that the interview had been one of marked success. Axel was delighted; so was Mercy. I felt all we had to do now was to wait for Mirabeau to act. When I heard that he had written to the Comte de la Marck, who was one of the go-betweens in the affair:

“Nothing shall stop me. I would die rather than fail to fulfill my promises!” I was exultant.

The autumn had come and we must leave Saint-Cloud and return to the Tuileries. It was with great sadness that we returned to our dank, dark home.

The aunts were wretched. They could only vaguely understand what had happened, and they hated the crowds who were always watching us and treating us with no respect; they loathed the guards who spied on us so insolently.

They were constantly in tears and their health was failing. They envied poor Sophie more than ever. Anyone who had died before this terrible thing had happened was to be envied, declared Adelaide.

Mirabeau was in touch with us and the King was receiving him. I pointed out that if some plan was formed which might involve our leaving Paris it would be as well to have the aunts safely out of the way. Louis agreed with us but in his usual way did nothing about it, so I consulted Axel, who said that we should arrange for them to slip away. They must cross the frontier and perhaps go to Naples, where my sister would undoubtedly receive them.

I shall never forget the day they left. They were desolate, like two lost children. They embraced me fondly and Adelaide cried that she wanted me to come with them-myself, dear Louis and the darling children. I said we could not, and she looked at me mutely and I knew she was asking my forgiveness for all the spiteful malice of the past.

I wanted her to understand that I bore no malice. In the past I had been too careless to do so; now I realised that there was too much hatred in the world for me to wish to add to it.

I kissed them. I said, without believing it for one moment, that perhaps soon we should all be together. And they went out into the courtyard where the carriages were waiting. I was horrified to see that a crowd had gathered and some effort was made to prevent their leaving.

I heard a voice shout: “Shall we let them go?” And I listened, my heart beating wildly for the answer.

There was a pause, but when during it the coachmen had whipped up the horses and the carriage moved off, no one attempted to follow them.

It was only Mesdames—the mad old ladies.

I stood at the window looking out without seeing anything.

They had gone now. Another phase was over.

It was a long time before I heard from them. Their carriage had been stopped on the way; ugly faces had peered at them. As they could not be the Queen disguised they were allowed to pass on, and eventually they reached Naples, where my sister Caroline welcomed them.

I heard that they spoke of me with something like reverence. So they must have been truly sorry.

Orleans had returned to Paris. Why should he stay away? Because the King had sent him into exile? But what power had the King? The people of Paris welcomed him back. And with him came Jeanne de la Motte. Why should she stay away? There was no danger now of her being asked to pay the penalty for her part in the diamond necklace fraud. Everyone believed that she had been the scapegoat and that I had had the necklace.

She set herself up in the Place Vendome and devoted her time to the writing of fiction in which I was always the central character. She wrote her newest version of the Diamond Necklace Scandal. Her works were received with enthusiasm, for their purpose was to revile me.

Meanwhile Mirabeau was bringing all his energy to the problem of restoring the Monarchy. I believe now that he could have done it. He was working with the National Assembly and with the King and we were closer now to reconciliation than we had been for a long time, Mirabeau could have saved us. I realise that now. He was not entirely altruistic. He wanted power for himself, and he wanted riches too. His debts were enormous. The King must provide a million livres which would pass into Mirabeau’s possession when he had brought the revolution to an end and the King was firmly back on the throne. His, Mirabeau’s, debts would naturally be settled and he would earn the undying gratitude of the King.

With his golden voice and his mastery of words he could sway the Assembly. Marat, Robespierre and Danton were watchful. So was Orleans.

It must have seemed to them that Mirabeau was planning to destroy all they had agitated for.

He talked fiercely to the King.

“Four enemies,” he said, ‘are marching upon us: taxation, bankruptcy, the army, and the winter. We could prepare to deal with these enemies by guiding them. Civil war is not certain, but it could be expedient.”

Louis was horrified.

“Civil war. I could never agree to that ” Law and order would merely be arms to fight the mob. And does Your Majesty doubt which would win?”

The King looked at me.

“The King would never agree to civil war,” I told him.

Mirabeau was exasperated.

“Oh excellent but weak King I’ he thundered.

“Oh, most unfortunate of Queens! Your vacillation, has swept you into a terrible abyss. If you renounce my advice, or if I should fail, a funeral pall will cover this realm. But should I escape the general shipwreck, I shall be able to say to myself with pride, ” I exposed myself to danger in the hope of saving them, but they did not want to be saved”.”

And with that he left us. How right he was. How foolish we were.

But the King would only say: “I would never agree to civil war.”

I, too, was afraid of it—too much afraid to attempt to persuade him, which no doubt I should have done.

Mirabeau was not the man to give up because he had rejected his first plan. He knew of Axel’s devotion to me and they talked together of the necessity of getting us out of Paris.

Mirabeau believed this to be a good plan and suggested that Axel should go at once to Metz, near the frontier, where the Marquis de Bouille was stationed with the loyal troops. Axel was to discover the position there, explain the plan to Bouille, and then return to Paris with all speed so that the arrangements could begin.

Axel came to say goodbye to me and I was terrified.

Do you realise,” I asked him, ‘what these canaille would do to you if they knew you were working for us?”

He knew, he replied. But they were not going to discover. The plan was going through. He was going to transport me to safety.

“They would not care that you were a foreigner!” I cried.

“Oh, Axel, go away from France. Stay away … until all this is over.”

He merely smiled and took me into his arms. He said that he would soon be back from Metz and then there should be no delay. He would be leaving Paris and I should be with him.

So he went to Metz and I tried to settle into the routine of the new life so monotonous, but like a smouldering fire which will at any moment burst into a wild conflagration.

It was wonderful to see Axel safely back, but the news he brought was not good. Bouille was growing anxious, for the troops were becoming restive. News of what was happening in Paris was coming to them often highly exaggerated, and he was less sure of their loyalty than he had been. Bouille believed that inactivity was responsible. K decisive action was to be taken, there should be no delay.

Axel agreed wholeheartedly; so did Mirabeau.

You should begin making plans for the escape,” Mira beau told Axel.

“As a Swede you are less suspect than a Frenchman would be.” In the meantime he still clung to his first plan. He wanted boldness on the part of the King; he wanted him to behave as though he were a King, to go into the streets, to show himself. He was not disliked, the people showed their affection for him by calling him their link papa.

“I think it would be unwise for the Queen to appear in the streets,” said Axel.

Mirabeau lifted his shoulders.

“In an affair of this nature, certain risks must be taken. The mood of the people at this moment is such that I do not think the Queen would be harmed. That mood can, of course, change suddenly.” - “I do not care for the Queen to expose herself to the rabble,” said Axel fiercely.

So even between these two there was disagreement.

But there was new hope in the Tuileries. Axel was working for us as only a fervent lover could; Mirabeau was using all the fierce determination of an ambitious man, for the same purpose. I believed that this could not fail.

Fate was against us, for ill fortune always seemed close behind, ready to catch up with us.

I could not believe it when I was told that Mirabeau was dead. The day before, he had appeared to be in perfect health, his vitality astonishing everyone. By day he was haranguing the National Assembly, formulating plans with the Ring and at the same time working with the Assembly. By night he continued to indulge in the pleasure of the flesh. I heard that the night before he died he slept with two opera singers.

We did not know exactly how he died. All we knew was that he was no longer with us.

The verdict was death from natural causes; but we shall never know what killed Mirabeau. He was a man who no doubt suffered from certain ailments. The life he had been leading for so long may have made them inevitable; but there were many who said that the Orleanists had determined to be rid of a man who was trying to run with the Monarchy and hunt with the National Assembly. It would not be difficult to find someone ready to slip a little something into his food or wine.

The fact remained that we had lost Mirabeau, and with him, our best hope of restoring the Monarchy to France.

And so we were back to the routine of the Tuileries. I spent a great deal of time in my room, writing. I was learning now where I had taken my most fatal steps and how I might have acted. If I ever had a chance, I decided, I would not make the same mistakes again.

I was embroidering my tapestry rug with Elisabeth and we spent long hours together talking of the children; sometimes I played a game of billiards with the King. For exercise we walked in the Bois de Boulogne, but we were always uneasy when out of doors. Our experiences at Versailles had taught us that walls could not protect us from the fury of the mob, but there was a certain sense of security within walls. My son remained very friendly with the soldiers, and I encouraged this because I thought that he must inspire some affection in them and if the mob ever broke in on us as they had at Versailles these soldier friends H of his would protect him.

I was longing for the summer and the comparative freedom of Saint-Cloud. It seemed far away and I suggested to the King that we slip away to Saint-Cloud for Easter. He agreed to this and I said we would make ready.

Remembering how, when the aunts had left, the mob had surrounded their carriage and had debated whether or not to let them go, I said that we must not let it be generally known that we were going. All the same, certain preparations had to be made, and the members of my intimate circle knew of them.

I trusted them absolutely, although there was a new corner named Madame Rochereuil of whom I knew very little: but she had been well recommended and it never occurred to me to doubt that she ‘was not to be relied on.

Preparations were complete; Easter was almost on us;

the carriages were in the courtyard and we were ready to leave. But as we began the drive we found ourselves surrounded by the rabble; this was the same kind of mob which had brought us from Versailles to Paris. I felt sick with horror; my son turned his face from the window of the carriage and I put my arm about him to comfort him.

The insults came—the crude obscenities.

“Lirte Papa must stay with his children!” cried the crowd.

La Fayette came up with his soldiers and ordered the mob to retire and let the royal carriage pass, but he was jeered at and mud was flung at him. I knew instinctively that this was another organised revolt.

“You are behaving as enemies of the Constitution!” cried La Fayette.

“In preventing the King from leaving, you make him a prisoner and you annul the decrees he has sanctioned.”

But they would not listen to reason. What had reason to do with them?

They had been gathered together for this purpose; they had been paid to do what they did.

They leered in at the carriage windows. When the King tried to speak, they shouted “Fat pig I’ at him.

I could not help showing my disdain for them. It was something I could never hide. My looks betrayed the contempt I felt for these people.

“Look at her I’ they cried, ” Shall we let this putain dictate to us?”

La Payette rode to the carriage.

“Sire,” he said, ‘have I your orders to fire on the mob? “

“I could never permit it!” cried Louis.

“I do not want one drop of blood to be shed for me. We will return to the Tuileries.”

So the carriages were turned, and amid shouting and jeers we rode back.

As he alighted, Louis said with a sigh: “You will bear witness that henceforward we are not free.”

I was desolate. I said to my husband as we entered that palace of doom: “WE are indeed prisoners. They are determined that we shall never leave the Tuileries.”